


heaven herself

by amaryllises



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Femslash February, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Vomit Mention, virtual reality au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 02:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13754517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaryllises/pseuds/amaryllises
Summary: “Do you think we’re ever gonna leave?” Yonaga asks. The fluorescent light of kitchen tints her hair a blue color, like an unsaturated robin’s egg. Coupled with the soft glow of the moonlight, it seems to give her hair a shiny quality; like an angelic halo. She blinks, evidently uncontent with the barrage of bright lights, and sighs. “‘Cause God doesn’t.”-Toujou spends time with somebody new at the facility Team Danganronpa had so graciously provided.





	heaven herself

Toujou takes her duties as a maid with a grain of salt.

 

Well, she’s not exactly a maid any more. Yet, that doesn't stop her from reveling in rubbing the dishes laboriously, relishing in the way the stains run down the sink until the plates turn a clean white. It's almost as pale and bright as the moon that clings close to the window above the sink. Toujou lets the cold water run down her hands as she scrubs them together vigorously, squirting several pumps of some soap that smells like drain cleaner in her hand. 

 

The facility the fourteen of them are kept in is small and barren; the rooms barely able to accomodate more than one person. Plus, it’s stuffy. Toujou feels as if she, at the _ very least _ , has the right to enter the kitchen late at night — when it’s quiet, peaceful, devoid of death threats and the like. 

 

She marvels at how the others haven’t discovered her small paradise in hell. 

 

Toujou musters up the resolve to shut off the water flow. The awful feeling persists; her hands feel grimy, coated with dirt, they’re disgusting, they’re horrible. Out of spite, Toujou doesn’t necessarily follow the careful information her assigned psychologist had given her. Not that she thought she needed one; on the application for  _ Danganronpa _ , there was nothing that acted as a prelude to various conditions — “ _ Side effects, _ ”  _ Danganronpa’s  _ ambassador chirped, right before Harukawa ran to strangle her — that she would experience. 

 

Sighing, Toujou scrunches a white washcloth in her (ungloved) hands, tensing at the unfamiliar texture of the fabric. Her next stop would be the cupboard right above the sink. Beside the array of cups, a small selection of teas lay, all untouched — except for some small packages of black tea. The brand is suspiciously generic, as if it was from the dollar store or somewhere similar.

 

Although Toujou would much prefer loose leaf tea (even though she wasn’t as capable as she was in-game on handling and brewing it), the facility insisted on tea bags, explaining the significance and the ease.

 

Toujou just knows they have to reserve as much money as they can for the next season.

 

She grabs a packet and a white mug, ripping up the paper covering and dropping the tea bag inside the mug. 

 

The saucepan — for there were no kettles provided — bubbles incandescently, and Toujou makes her way over to the stove, where she carefully flicks off the gas. The ceramic mug emblazoned with  _ Team Danganronpa’s  _ logo is where she pours the water, watching the way brown swirls inside the cup.

 

The kitchen also acts as a dining room. Toujou sits on a cheap wooden chair and places the tea on the table, watching the way smoke twirls rises to the ceiling before dispersing.

 

She sighs.

 

The tea isn’t flavorful at all — although, Toujou doesn’t know if it’s because of the quality, or how she scorches her tongue as she takes a careful sip.

 

There’s a tapping noise as shoes hit the wooden floor. 

 

Toujou whips around quickly in fear, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound. Her breathing hitches and she feels physically constricted, as if she was forced to curl up into a tiny ball.

 

Thankfully, it’s only Yonaga; not a therapist or the hoard of paparazzi that attended when she was forced to be in an interview. She breathes a sigh of relief, and hunches forwards to sip again at her tea. 

 

Toujou sees Yonaga walk to the sink, where she places a tower of bowls and plates, without bothering to let the water run over it. She cringes slightly. It would be unsanitary and hard to remove… 

 

The sudden pessimistic nature of Yonaga was the most outstanding transformation; even surpassing Momota being a murderous psychopath. Whereas it didn’t happen immediately; she was nothing like the sunshine girl she had been in the simulation, appraising her God as much as possible. Their predictions about Yonaga leaping into Yumeno’s arms were correct; but strangely thwarted a few hours later, when Yonaga sulked, solemn and uninterested.

 

“Ah… how are you doing, Yona— Angie-san?” Toujou asks, watching her from afar. 

 

She doesn’t move, still stacking silverware into the sink. “Don’t call me that,” she chirps. 

 

“I apologize,” Toujou replies, combing down her hair nervously, which had grown out a considerable amount. The silvery strands spiral down her head, falling over her shoulder in soft curls. “How are you… Yonaga-san?”

 

“Bad, but what would Kiru- what would you expect?” she laughs, strangely bright and sunny; a contrast from the melancholy of her words. She grimaces; a thing that looks only like a small, covert smile on the face of Yonaga. “Angie has —  _ I have _ — the ‘words of God’ running in my head all the damn time. And I can’t change the way Angie Yonaga speaks, so now I sound like this.”

 

“But you are Angie Yonaga, are you not?” 

 

“No,” she responds, scrubbing at the piles of dirty dishes with lazy strokes. Toujou stiffens; she was the Super High School Level Maid; it was her responsibility and  _ duty _ to do all the chores around the facility. But still, she doesn’t try to interfere, instead, staring down at the swirling cup of tea in front of her. “Angie’s Yonaga Angie. There’s a difference.”  

 

“I see—” Toujou pauses, trying to change the subject, “about the other… eccentricities that are happening to you… that is unfortunate. Have you contacted Shimizu-san?” Toujou inclines her head to the right, taking another sip of her (now) lukewarm tea. Shimizu-san was the therapist assigned only for group therapy — but Toujou had a sneaking suspicion that they could only afford one. “She has given  _ us _ careful instructions on what to do if we are faced with any trauma.” She emphasizes the ‘us’ as if separating Yonaga and her from the others.

 

Yonaga curls her lip. “You actually do that shit, Kirumi? Angie only does what God says…” she murmurs, as if in a trance. Her eyes go glossy. She shakes her head.

 

“Are you alright?” Toujou asks, concerned. “I am sure if you try some routines, it will be fine.” 

 

Yonaga makes her way towards the table. She sits at the chair the furthest away from her, and brandishes something from the pocket of her bright yellow windbreaker. Toujou eyes it carefully. It’s a notepad and a pack of crayons — which she had mistaken for a packet of cigarettes, given the abundance smuggled inside — which Yonaga sets down on the table. 

 

“You ever think about the others?” Yonaga questions softly, leaning back in her seat. When Toujou quirks an eyebrow, Yonaga glances down, and forcefully scribbles something with yellow crayon. “Like… like Himiko and Chabashira, for instance.”

 

“What about them?” Toujou inquires, feigning ignorance, as if nobody knew. 

 

“You know. They’re dating now,” Angie scowls, her tone an obvious dagger of jealousy. The tip of the crayon shatters as she slams it down on the table. “God didn’t even give them their memories back.”

 

“I, personally, feel happy for them. To be able to find comfort in each other in such a dire situation; I would say it is true love, is it not?” Toujou states.

 

“Oh, oh, isn’t that  _ simply divine? _ ” Yonaga snorts, using a darker crayon to scribble some vague outline around the yellow wax. “Toujou Kirumi, yep, yep, the morally ambiguous one! The true neutral! Is that why everyone loves you so much?”

 

“I— I fail to see what you mean,” she stammers, clasping her hands together. It felt so dirty and disgusting without her gloves on that her breathing hitches.

 

“ _ God _ , is this why everyone liked you so much — even though you killed someone?” Angie giggles, radiant amidst the disgust in her words. Toujou can see her hold tighten on the crayon, which she doesn’t control now, letting it scribble up and down the tiny sketchbook.

 

Toujou controls her breathing by staring forward. “While I do not condone my actions inside the simulation,” she starts, looking away to the side, “I do not believe my real self correlates to me within said simulation.”

 

“Didn’t Kirumi hear them?” Yonaga snorts, “or — maybe only her. Shimizu. They were  _ exaggerated  _ versions of one personality trait in the interview.”

 

“One  _ minor _ personality trait,” Toujou corrects. “I do not expect it to be a completely new personality from scratch.”

 

“God says it’s the same difference. Angie would not dare to disagree with someone as almighty as her God,” she hums, and she continues, without as much as taking a breath, “besides,  _ your _ personality in the simulation was favorable, even by God’s terms. You’re so perfect and reliable; wasn’t it totally devastating when you killed Hoshi? Hm?  _ Hm? _ ” she spits; her cheeks red and out of breath. 

 

Toujou can feel the blood from the cuts on her arms, from her legs, from her chest, seeping through the white on her dress; straining through the black of her apron. It drips down her body, making her feel  _ so dirty _ and  _ so disgusting _ that she can barely breathe among the stench of iron. But she climbs anyways; ignoring the pain in her arms, ignoring how the spikes pierce through the thin material of her trusty gloves. 

 

Breathe in, breathe out, just like the psychologist had directed her. As much as she would hate and despise to admit it, it helped. “Yonaga-san… please, don’t talk about it. Not right now.”

 

Yonaga only stares down blankly, and she squeezes her eyes shut, as if just realizing what she said. “Angie’s sorry. Angie’s sorry…” she trails off, staring at the crayon in her hand. Yonaga brings her knees to her chest, and suddenly she’s crying; her face as red as the crayon she held. Furiously, she brings her palms up to her eyes, and wipes her tears. “ _ I’m _ sorry.” 

 

Breakdowns were often; much more often than Toujou would’ve liked. But Yonaga’s were strange, especially compared to the cheerful girl that they had once knew. 

 

“It will be fine,” Toujou tries to console, looking down at her own hands hopelessly. 

 

“No, it won’t,” Yonaga says, stifled by her sobs and how she digs her head between her knees. 

 

Toujou can’t help but to agree.

 

☆☆☆

 

Toujou brews two cups of tea instead of one, this time.

 

☆☆☆

 

“So!” Shimizu claps her hands together, saccharine tones seeping through her words, “five months in this facility! Isn’t it incredible?”

 

There are no replies. Toujou avoids her fakely sweet gaze by focusing on chewing on her thumb; she avoids eye contact from the others. The only thing important as of now were her chewed, disgusting fingernails, and all the dust and grime that covered her entire hand. 

 

Shimizu doesn’t falter. Her posture straightens and her eyes seem to glow as she examines the room, quirking her head to the side. “I see none of you want to talk,” she smiles, flitting her glasses — so similar to Shirogane’s — up. 

 

Hoshi says something under his breath to Saihara and Gokuhara. Toujou winces.

 

“Still not talking?” she asks. She leans back on the leather recliner, and looks at them expectantly; more-so like a lab rat stuffed full with injectants, instead of as kids. She tilts her head back and laughs. “I see, I see.”

 

They sit in silence. Toujou picks at the skin on her cuticles. There were no gloves in the facility — hell, not even simple dishwashing gloves — for Shimizu had banned its presence entirely; saying the best way to deal with “stuff like that” was to take it away immediately. 

 

Akamatsu looks apathetically to the side, dipping her head down to avoid any stares. It was clear the leadership role she had bestowed upon herself had demolished.

 

Shimizu pays no heed. “I suppose I should leave,” she shrugs, throwing on her blazer. “Maybe the group therapy would be better?”

 

There is no response, even when the click of Shimizu’s heels lead out the door. She does this all the time; appearing for a brief moment to announce her arrival, and the aforementioned “group therapy”, before she closes the door and locks all fourteen of the teenagers inside. Every damn time, each week, for five months.

 

“I’m fucking leaving,” Iruma states quietly, visibly shivering as she tugs on the door. She's noticeably less confident than she was in the simulation, but her attitude was the exact same. “God fucking damnit,” she curses, pulling on the knob that would not give, “it's locked.”

 

“Please, please, do not use God’s name in vain!” Yonaga chides.

 

“What the hell do you know, you goddamn cult bitch?” Iruma yells back in a sudden burst of anger.

 

Amami whispers, “that isn’t something that’s necessary to say.”

 

Yonaga shrivels up at the end of the sofa.

 

It was like leaving volatile, emotionally depraved teenagers in a locked room was a horrible idea.

 

Other than the remark, no other form of sympathy — or even reassurance — had been offered to Yonaga. 

 

Toujou is aware of her surroundings as she awkwardly brushes her hair off her shoulder,  _ very  _ uncomfortable with the unfamiliar length. As she leans forwards and rests her elbows on her knees, she sighs, as hair falls in front of her face.

 

Clearing his throat, Saihara stands up suddenly. His hair is cropped shorter and closer to his scalp, and his cowlick (dubbed as an “ahoge” by frequent viewers) is gone. “Akamatsu and I are leaving,” he announces.

 

“The facility?” Momota exclaims, wondrous. “You’ve been cleared?”

 

“No,” Saihara says, in disgust; Toujou isn't sure if it's directed at  _ Team Danganronpa _ or Momota. He laughs. “Publicity stunt. Those sons of bitches want us to continue this, because they own us.”

 

“I think we already knew that,” Akamatsu pointedly snarks.

 

“I—hate you.”

 

“Glad it's reciprocated.”

 

“Anyways,” Saihara ignores her, “we'll be leaving together tomorrow. ‘Makin’ headlines’, or whatever they say. As much profit as possible for Team Danganronpa.”

 

“Didn't you use to loooooooove Akamatsu-chan?” Ouma fidgets nervously, despite all the power and confidence he held in his words.

 

Saihara’s face tenses. He suddenly becomes the elephant in the room, but he nods in agreement. “Yes,” he shrugs, “for two days. But then I realized how fucking  _ insufferable _ she is in real life.”

 

“Well said,” she snorts, “as if your only motivation throughout this game wasn't  _ me _ , you fucking psychopath.”

 

Toujou jabs her eyes towards Momota, and then back at the floor. 

 

“I did what any decent person would do!” Saihara slams his hands down on the coffee table, eliciting a rattle. “Who  _ wouldn’t  _ try to save everyone?”

 

“Really?” Akamatsu throws her head back and laughs. “How about, you ask our dear friends Toujou and Shinguuji?”

 

All eyes stare onto her, and Toujou feels disgusting, like a stain on her perfectly crisp and white apron. She averts her eyes away, pretending to be occupied by the dusty books adorning the bookcase — as if it would make it look friendlier.

 

Toujou dares to sneak a glance at Shinguuji, who keeps his head down. Unlike the others who had chosen to change their appearance, Shinguuji looks more or less the same — minus the mask that used to cover his lipstick stained mouth — with perfectly glossy black hair that runs straight down his back. He doesn't look too alarmed; it seems he hasn't even heard. 

 

Toujou almost laughs. They're one in the same: cold blooded killers, except Toujou killed for her country that never even existed; Shinguuji killed two for his sister — who she also doubted was real.

 

Shimizu takes that opportunity to burst open the door, revealing her, in the same, fiercely sweet smile as always. “Well, I hope it went well!” but Toujou can tell by the same grin that she definitely knew it didn't go well. The walls are paper thin, and even something as quiet as Iruma’s whimper could be heard from the outside.

 

That is, if the microphones installed in the room weren't there. 

 

“You are all free to go now!”

 

No one dares to move until Shimizu walks away from sight.

 

☆☆☆

 

Toujou brews a cup of tea. Today, it's peppermint; she heard it helped with bloating for what seemed like millenia ago from her culinary teacher. Whilst the bubbling in her stomach doesn't feel like bloating, she supposes it's close enough.

 

Like always: tap water, saucepan, cheap tea, ceramic mug. It's a tedious process, but Toujou can do it in her sleep, though, she'd much rather be conscious, for safety reasons.

 

Taking a sip, she tries to figure out the situation. Saihara and Akamatsu had left already; probably holding each other’s hand, whispering to each other things that probably seemed like sweet nothings to the press — though Toujou knew for a  _ fact  _ that they were probably threats of murder. 

 

Shirogane was probably locked away to God-knows-where; Toujou could safely proclaim “good riddance” to that.  

 

She doesn’t know where Kiibo is. Plain and simple;  _ Team Danganronpa  _ had vehemently refused to provide the information. No matter how much Toujou and the others pleaded and begged to see him — hell, Toujou had even volunteered to appear in a sponsored commercial — everything was kept confidential. 

 

“Hm,” Toujou says aloud. The clock reads half past three.

 

It’s strangely empty tonight.

 

☆☆☆

 

_ The first thing Saihara does when he has the dilemma is run straight to Toujou.  _

 

_ Quite frankly, Toujou doesn’t mind. Events like this, that make her feel needed, are greatly appreciated, especially in this age and time. Besides, it takes the mind away from approximately a week ago, when  _ Team Danganronpa  _ had declared to them that it was all a simulation, and that nothing was real.  _

 

_ He approaches her when she’s knitting something out of bright yellow yarn, with the bluntest needles she had ever laid her eyes upon. _

 

_ “Saihara-kun, do you need something?” Toujou asks, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. Despite his attempt to be sneaky — he was not sneaky. _

 

_ “Uh…” Saihara rubs his arm, looking aside,.“Would it be okay if you came along with me? I want to do something, and—and, moral support would be nice.” _

 

_ “Violence against the security guards does not work,” Toujou points out, “Momota tried that, and he got tased to death and back.”  _

 

_ “Oh, no, it’s not that,” Saihara laughs awkwardly. “Less dangerous.” _

 

_ “I suppose I can come along,” Toujou agrees. She sets the needles down. _

 

☆☆☆

 

_ Saihara confesses everything at once. It spills like tea; like when Toujou had accidentally turned around, pouring lukewarm tea all over her mother, who had thoroughly given her a scolding that she could consider unhealthy. _

 

_ Maybe that was why she signed up for Danganronpa in the first place. _

 

_ But Akamatsu only stares ahead blankly. When Saihara’s done spilling his heart out, she has the audacity to laugh. Not a cheery, bashful giggle she had so frequently heard from Akamatsu Kaede in the simulation; something far more cruel and taunting. _

 

_ “Is that all?” she asks. _

 

_ “Wh—what do you mean, ‘is that all?” Saihara blubbers, looking at Akamatsu with utmost confusion on his face. _

 

_ Toujou pretends to look away.  _

 

_ “You’re pathetic,” Akamatsu sneers. _

 

☆☆☆

 

Four days after the chaotic “group therapy”, Toujou finally has some company.

 

One-fifty is when Yonaga trudges out, her face obscured by dark circles. It’s also when Toujou decides to cut up some apples; she was hungry, but her appetite was small. When she gnaws on an apple slice on the kitchen table, she sees Yonaga pop out.

 

“Ah, Yonaga-san.” Toujou sweeps up her striped pajama bottoms out of habit, as if it was the apron she had so frequently worn in the simulation. “How are you feeling? Would you like some tea?”

 

Yonaga only nods briefly, before she lays face down on the tabletop, covering her face with her arms. Her hair, collected in one ponytail, falls around her head, in white waves.

 

“Hmm… what would you prefer?” Toujou clicks her tongue as she pushes around the cupboard. Clearly, someone had intruded on her space, because tea bags, once in organized piles, sprawls around the drawer. “There's… peppermint… black tea… lemon…” Toujou pauses to scout around the back, “green tea… and… I presume that is it.”

 

A muffled voice says “green tea.” 

 

As Toujou sets the water to boil, she cleans the countertop, despite it being already pristine, minus the scratch marks that had been engraved, even before Toujou had arrived there. 

 

“Toujou.”

 

“Hm?” Toujou absentmindedly replies.

 

“Have you… have you regained your memories?” Yonaga asks. When Toujou turns around, she sees Yonaga; still with her head on the table.

 

“Only a tiny amount,” Toujou answers, frowning. She remembers home economics class — at an all girls school? — and her mother; she remembers spilling a tiny drop of oil on her thumb while making katsu. “Though, I suppose, it’s more minor details, rather than anything of significance. Why might you ask, Yonaga-san?”

 

Yonaga groans, and flops on the table, moving her shoulders so that her head faced up. “Gonta told Angie that he was getting some of his back… so of course, Angie was curious about everybody else. Even if they didn’t like her.”

 

“Oh? What did Gokuhara-san do to retain them?” 

 

“Gonta just said he remembered them one day, just out of the blue. Angie thinks it’s a work of God, but,” she simply shrugs, “it could be anything.”

 

“If it is not confidential… what  _ were _ his memories?” Toujou drops the green tea teabag in the pot; she noticed the water was at a light, rolling boil. Toujou takes the water off the heat, and makes her way toward the table, where she sits beside Yonaga.

 

“Oh, the standard,” Yonaga props herself up so that she sits properly. Looking away, she reports, “a student. Got in a fight, got suspended, so the first thing Gonta did was, like, join Danganronpa. Or  _ try to _ , anyways. When he thought it was only a scripted show, like Angie and everyone else.” 

 

“Have his parents come to visit him?” Toujou says hopefully.

 

Yonaga stares off. “No, no. Nobody visits us, Kirumi.”

 

The timer beeps, signifying the tea was ready. To avoid conversation, Toujou quickly shoots up from her seat to tend to the water. The water trickles down the edges of the pot — she must’ve forgotten to turn the heat down, like an idiot — rendering the gas flame flickering and dangerous. Wincing, Toujou turns the fire off, and retrieves the water, grabbing the handle with a potholder and slowly pouring it in a cup. 

 

She places it in front of Yonaga, who grabs it gratefully. 

 

Toujou picks at an apple slice. Instead of eating it, she peels up the skin that she forgot to peel; it’s bruised and spotted, definitely selected on a whim, instead of being carefully inspected for any imperfections.

 

“Do you think we’re ever gonna leave?” Yonaga asks. The fluorescent light of kitchen tints her hair a blue color, like an unsaturated robin’s egg. Coupled with the soft glow of the moonlight, it seems to give her hair a shiny quality; like an angelic halo. She blinks, evidently uncontent with the barrage of bright lights, and sighs. “‘Cause God doesn’t.”

 

“Eventually, they are required let us out,” Toujou says sympathetically. “Something in our contracts state that.” She leans back in her seat, slumping, in contrast to her impeccable posture before. “Though, I am not certain anyone would be coming for me.”

 

“Isn’t everyone?” Yonaga laughs bitterly. “Angie doesn’t remember that much, but I know — God knows — that they don’t want her.”

 

“Does God know any more?” Toujou asks, picking at the fraying on the edge of her mug.

 

“No. After all, Angie doesn’t. Isn’t that simply divine?”  

 

“I… I suppose not, but we are all in the same situation as each other.”

 

“Except Shirogane and Kiibo,” Yonaga adds, upturning her head. Toujou can see the dark circles weighing down her face, and wonders if she looks the same too; having not slept in over a day.

 

“Have you not been sleeping lately? I do not think that would be beneficial to your health.” 

 

“Speak for yourself, Kirumi,” Yonaga snorts, and gestures towards her. Toujou  _ did  _ look as bad as she envisioned. “ _ They _ don’t give us any sleeping pills, because—well, well, Angie thinks it’s obvious why.”

 

“Chamomile is helpful. I can request for some more tea, if you would like. I am fine doing extra interviews,” Toujou offers, twirling a handful of hair absentmindedly. 

 

Yonaga’s face falls. “You don’t have to do everything for everyone, you know.”

 

“Hm? I fail to understand what you mean. I  _ am _ a maid, after all,” she affirms, laughing gently. “It would be my duty to assist you, and everyone here.”

 

“Kirumi, Kirumi, you’re not a maid any more. Even God knows that,” Yonaga says; something that could be seen as condescending, but with her tone, it seems more of a joke.

 

Toujou brushes off the slim chance of it being an insult. “But what is there to say I do not want to be one?” she speculates. “Though I do not remember, if I was the Super High School Level Maid in  _ Danganronpa _ , I must have requested a talent similar to it.”

 

Yonaga stares ahead. “Angie guesses you’re right.”

 

Toujou yawns involuntarily. She covers her mouth with her bare hand as she does so, shutting her eyes. “I apologize,” Toujou murmurs, after blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She rolls up the flimsy pajama sleeve, checking the plastic watch on her arm. “Oh, that’s why. Yonaga-san, it is three in the morning. I must take my leave, if that is okay with you.”

 

Yonaga doesn’t reply, eyes glazed distantly.

 

“Yonaga-san?” Toujou repeats, worried. 

 

After a second, Yonaga bobs her head.“Yep, yep, that is fine by Angie!” she reassures, twisting her hands around each other. She’s nervous, Toujou realizes; noting the way Yonaga’s eyes flicker back and forth, almost in fearful anticipation. “But… but God—no, Angie,” she corrects, “has a request.”

 

“What is it? No laundry, please,” Toujou jokes, “I have to get Panta stains out of white clothing.” 

 

“No, no, it’s not a chore!” Yonaga puffs her cheeks out childishly. “Angie was just wondering if we could meet again. Tomorrow.”

 

“Did we not already do that?” Toujou asks, scratching her head.

 

“Yep, yep!” she agrees. “But Angie never really… asked… I only appeared.”

 

“Oh.” Toujou furrows her eyebrow, pondering the situation, and realizes it was true. “Of course you can join me, Yonaga-san.”

 

“That is simply divine! God thanks you, Kirumi!” Yonaga beams.

 

The edges of Toujou’s mouth raise into a small smile.

 

☆☆☆

 

“When did Kirumi get a tablet?” Yonaga asks, trying to peer over her shoulder  — despite Toujou towering over her. In reality, it was Yonaga on her tips of her toes, struggling to get her eyesight above Toujou’s neck. “Ooh, ooh, does it work?”

 

“Ouma-kun managed to convince a security guard to give him one. No idea how; it was so impressive that I could not even ask him.” Toujou sits down on the living room — it was the same as the group therapy room, except the door was required to be open all the time — and Yonaga follows, bouncing on the sofa right next to Toujou.

 

“Well, well, there were a lot of Kokichi fans watching the season.” Yonaga frowns. Toujou tenses when she brings it up; she's grateful when Yonaga changes the subject by saying, “did he only give one to you?”

 

“Hm… If I recall, he had given one to Iruma and Harukawa-san, Gokuhara-kun… and himself as well,” Toujou lists, counting the people on her fingers, “so, five in total.”

 

“Why to those people specifically?” Yonaga inquires, rocking back and forth. 

 

“He had given one to me, because I was an ‘awesome mom’; one to Harukawa-san, ‘so she could see all the hate she gets’ — but I think it is for her to keep tabs on her orphanage,” Toujou pauses to take a breath, and continues, “Iruma-san helped him connect the tablets to a network, somehow; Gokuhara-kun’s was for an apology.”

 

“An apology? But Angie doesn’t know what it's for—oh,” Yonaga realizes, opening her eyes wide. “ _ That. _ ”

 

“Indeed, it is  _ that _ ,” Toujou agrees, before tilting her head back down to view the tablet screen. On the browser that Iruma had miraculously managed to link it to, she types in “saimatsu”, wondering how the two “lovers” were doing.

 

“Found an article!” Yonaga exclaims in triumph, and she clicks the first search result, before Toujou has the chance to view the title after the searches had finished loading.

 

_ Saimatsu _ :  _ Lover’s Quarrel? _ The headline exclaims in humongous obnoxious bolded letters.

 

Yonaga quirks her head to the side in worried interest, but doesn't seem to scroll down. Toujou does it for her, and, frowning, she reads the article.

 

_ This Friday, paparazzi had captured an image that astounded fervent ‘shippers’, a term used for anyone that pairs two people in a romantic fashion. Captured in this image (as seen below) _ —

 

Toujou scrolls down to look at it.

 

—  _ it was a beautiful night, with stars (Luminary of the Stars, anyone?) glistening in the night sky. And through all the photographic ability captured in this one image, very clearly, Akamatsu Kaede is seen slapping Saihara Shuuichi. _

 

_ In the ever popular series of  _ Danganronpa _ , the most popular one has to be the astounding 53rd, where  _ Danganronpa  _ creators shocked everyone by sending the protagonist to her death in the third episode. _

 

_ Such protagonist is the aforementioned Akamatsu Kaede. Through the three episodes she is alive, she seems to befriend Saihara Shuuichi, who eventually becomes the “real” protagonist, despite the disdain of the viewers. The chemistry between them quickly attracted “fangirls”, who immediately flocked to the growing “ship”. _

 

_ They had moved in a luxurious condo a while ago, provided for by the generous _ Team Danganronpa.  _ This is also the setting where the violence (domestic violence, maybe?) had taken place _

 

_ What are your thoughts on this growing dilemma? Is it simply a small fight, or something much worse? Please comment below, and we might feature some highly rated ones. _

 

Toujou’s mouth feels dry, both with disgust and fear. Though she had always wanted to leave the facility, the fear of being constantly monitored shadowed over her. That would mean she would be dependent on the facility to keep her safe, for the time being.

 

Even Yonaga looks disturbed. When she sees Toujou looking down at the tablet in her hands, she offers a small smile, which Toujou could see as forced, judged by the lack of crinkling at the edges of her eyes. “Let's… let's see the featured comments,” Yonaga offers, as an attempt to distract Toujou.

 

They are as chaotic as Toujou imagines — perhaps even more.

 

**danganronpapapa:** this is why oumasai is much better… lmao their dynamic works the most

**falloutboys [reply to danganronpapapa]:** SaiMota is the only canon ship. It’s also the best ship.

**crypt1d5 [reply to falloutboys]:** momota is a psychotic piece of shit ouma too they should both rot

**[Click to view 152 replies]**

 

**foxx4girl19:** wwwhene wll evry1 else be released????? i wwant my tenmiko

**gontaismydaddy11 [reply to foxx4girl19]:** tenko is annoying.  **[click to expand on this comment]**

**[Click to view 30 other replies]**

 

**goorfminions:** shiiucjhi is very H

**numberonesaiharastan [reply to goorfminions]:** What does that mean??? Why is Saihara-chan very “H”?????!

 

Instead of combing through the rest, Toujou simply closes the tab. Then, she turns the tablet’s screen off, and rests it on her palms.

 

“I’m glad no one likes Angie enough to… to do that to her,” Yonaga says sympathetically.

 

“I am glad you are not being pursued, but,” Toujou pauses, “surely, people like you, but not enough to track your every move.”

 

“No, no. Everyone’s angry at Angie for trying to be friends with Himiko… see how that turned out?” Yonaga points to the back of her exposed neck, conveniently covered by her hair. “Kirumi, Kirumi, you remember when you were taken out of the pod, right?” 

 

“Right before you did,” Toujou nods, “but what does that pertain to the situation?”

 

“What’s-her-face.” Yonaga squeezes her eyes shut, as if concentrating on remembering her name. “How did she greet you?”

 

Toujou tries to remember, but all she can recall is black, and light, way too bright to be shining in her eyes. Her eyes can’t adjust to the light, and the sudden chill is too startling, even with the white cotton clothing she has on. And then a lady appears; dressed smartly in a white dress shirt, her black hair curled and tossed to the side. She extends her hand, which Toujou cannot remember being able to see clearly; she grabs it anyway, using it as a support to hoist herself out of the pod, while the woman gushes about her performance on  _ Danganronpa. _

 

Toujou shrugs. “Just like how everybody else had introduced themselves, I assume.”

 

There’s more, but Toujou doesn’t remember. The woman launches into talking about the prologue and how elegantly Toujou had handled the first trial… Then she talks about how Toujou had almost — no,  _ had  _ killed Hoshi — and suddenly she doubles over with the urge to vomit.

 

“Kirumi? Are you okay?” Yonaga shouts, backing away as soon as Toujou had made the sudden gesture of covering her mouth with her hand. 

 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Toujou manages to choke out, stumbling out of the living room. Yonaga follows her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as a support; much more genuine and warm than the woman who had greeted her. 

 

“Angie’s sorry, oh God, I’m sorry, Angie’s sorry, Angie’s sorry,” Yonaga repeats, hobbling beside Toujou. She cannot see her face, but Toujou imagines it as one of panic—and who could blame her? “Angie didn’t— I didn’t know—”

 

“It is fine, Yonaga-san,” Toujou gasps, throwing open the bathroom door, conveniently located right next to the living room. Thankfully, Yonaga knows not to follow; she stays in place, with a worried look on her face as the door skids to a close.

 

Toujou gathers her hair up, before looking at herself in a mirror. Her face looks deathly pale, and she shivers so much that, surely, her skin would be a light shade of blue. The black sweater she had knitted herself does nothing to warm her up, despite all the layers of clothing underneath; the chills still imbue itself in her skin, like a thousand tiny needles. 

 

Toujou splashes freezing cold water on her face and focuses on the sting of her cheeks, instead of the cold around her entire body. 

 

The zipline cuts her glove and suddenly her entire hand is streaming with blood, gushing and oozing, despite no skin-breaking injuries being prominent. Clutching her hands tightly together, Toujou sticks them under the tap, watching contently as the blood washes away, replaced by the scars that decorate her palms and the back of her hand. 

 

She freezes in place. There was no blood in the first place. There’s only grime and gravel and—

 

Toujou washes her hands again. 

 

Then she collapses on the floor, making sure to turn off the faucet for the porcelain sink. No need to waste water, even out of spite, she muses, before she covers her eyes with her dirty, dirty, killer hands, trying her best to stop the flow of tears that steadily treks down her face. She contains her sobs by stifling her mouth.

 

Once, she had walked in on Gokuhara crying. She asked him why he cried. When there was no reply, she cradled him in her arms, to the best of her ability, and offered a steady flow of reassurance: telling him his dog was okay, letting him know he would be out soon. 

 

Toujou hugs herself with her own two arms, and comforts herself with lies of the same caliber.

 

She stays like that for a while, her back pressed against the wall furthest from the doorway.

 

There’s two, light knocks on her door. “Is it okay if Angie comes in?” the voice on the other side says quietly, muffled by the door.

 

“You are free to do so,” Toujou sniffles, “though—”

 

Yonaga opens the door almost immediately after the confirmation, her arms held at her side tightly. Her eyes widen, perhaps even more than it already is, at Toujou slumped on the floor.

 

Toujou imagines her appearance isn’t as regal or as expected of a prime minister. She’s glad the blur of tears obscure her vision, giving her an excuse to shut her eyes closed. She dabs at the corner of her eye with her sweater sleeve, flinching at the uncomfortable fabric. 

 

“Kirumi? How are you feeling?” Yonaga asks carefully. There’s a thud at Toujou’s side, and she imagines it’s Yonaga launching herself to her knees to be next to her. 

 

“W—Well, or better than before,” Toujou confirms, still wiping her eyes. “Would you be—believe me if I said I had allergies?”

 

Yonaga clicks her tongue, and Toujou can feel arms squeeze softly around her torso. “No, but Angie’s glad you’re okay.  _ I’m _ glad you’re okay.”

 

Toujou can feel herself warm at Yonaga’s hug; the color returns to her cheeks by tenfold. 

 

☆☆☆

 

Yonaga’s head rests at the crook of Toujou’s neck, eased in a much more comfortable position than earlier. Toujou yawns, surprised that nobody had caught her and Yonaga out in the bathroom, especially for this long.  

 

She imagines her eyes are bloodshot, or just yellow, but thankfully, the tears and hiccups and sobs after have disappeared completely, leaving her solely in Yonaga’s embrace.

 

“Is it okay is Angie says something weird?” Yonaga chirps quietly, huddled close to the wall of the bathroom.

 

“I do not imagine anything would be weirder than this,” Toujou deadpans. Yonaga laughs softly. 

 

“Okay… this is from God, not Angie, as Angie is only God’s messenger…” Yonaga hesitates, “but God really likes Kirumi. Like, like like.”

 

“Does He?” Toujou jokes. “Does he know what I feel about God?”

 

“Yeah,” Yonaga answers, pressing her lips against Toujou’s cheek. “God thinks you might like Angie back, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> life be like this
> 
> also- forgot to include this cuz im dumb but i do not agree with everything the commenters say. only goorfminions


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